A Father's Love
by saltandtea-in221b
Summary: I couldn't stop at just one! Ficlets about Sherlock, John, and baby Mia (OC). Fluffy goodness.
1. A Father's Love

Hovering over the crib, Sherlock felt more like a mother bird than a father. He flitted around the nursery, tidying up for whenever John decided to return from the grocery. But his nerves continually returned him to the crib, watching the sleeping child within.

Sherlock gently leaned over the rail, bracing himself with one hand as the other caressed his child's silky soft cheek. At his touch, a small, quiet sigh escaped the babe's mouth, moving her tiny chest up and down, momentarily breaking her steady rhythm. The sound brought a smile to Sherlock's face.

John rarely left Sherlock alone with Mia. Sherlock was positive it was because John thought Sherlock would do some rash experiment on her. It made him chuckle, the baritone sound filling the tiny yellow and teal room. His caress of Mia's cheek paused, he inhaled deeply. Baby powder, diapers, lotion, mild hints of spit up. His heart swelled with joy at these scents. They resembled nothing of the scents that permeated his former life; blood, latex gloves, stale cab air, and Anderson. Briefly, he wondered what Anderson was doing these days, but swept the thought away as Mia stirred underneath his hand.

Bending slightly, Sherlock plucked his daughter from her bed, swiftly swaddling her in a nearby blanket and clutching her to his chest. Fussing was something Mia rarely did, and when she did in fact cry, John was often the one first to the scene. Sherlock didn't fault John for his diligence. John was indeed the more caring of the couple, more inclined to understand Mia's wails, more apt to proceed gently while playing peek-a-boo.

But Sherlock reveled in the act of fathering this beautiful bundle in his arms. She was sweet, endearing, trusting just as her Daddy was. But underneath her mop of dark curls, behind her bright blue eyes, Mia was as sharp, tactful, and cunning as Sherlock. She had truly gotten the best of both men. For that, Sherlock was grateful. He cherished the time he got to spend with Mia, reciting Shakespeare, telling her stories of when Daddy and Papa used to go running through the streets of London chasing the bad guys. She had a habit of cocking her head to the side as Sherlock told her stories; Sherlock was positive nothing in the natural world could make him happier than that pose.

He absentmindedly rubbed the child's back as he walked down the stairs into the sitting room. He wandered over to his chair by the fireplace, sitting carefully so as not to disturb the angel on his shoulder. When he was settled, Sherlock began singing a lullaby, and soon both father and daughter drifted off to sleep.

When he returned, the only sounds that met John at the door to the flat were the dulcet tones of his loves, snoring quietly by the fire.


	2. A Sandy Surprise

Sherlock had begged John for weeks to go on this holiday. Once the temperatures leveled out around 20°C, Sherlock had started in, badgering his husband about the positives aspects of a getaway for their little family. He'd highlighted how delighted Mia would be to feel the sand, hear the gulls, and see the waves. How good it would be for he and John to get out of the flat for a while, just a weekend trip, nothing drastic.

In reality, once Mia was born, incoming cases had slowed and Sherlock was getting bored. John still had the clinic to keep him busy. Sherlock had mild case work for Lestrade, minor doldrum affairs of simple-minded criminals. Their lives resembled nothing of the tangled web they used to try to unravel. Sherlock needed something new, so this trip seemed like the next best idea he could fathom.

Once John conceded to Sherlock's little jaunt to the beach, the decided weekend couldn't arrive quickly enough. While John busied himself finalizing paperwork for the clinic, Sherlock danced around the flat, twirling room to room making Mia giggle loudly with the swooping sensation. Sherlock gave one last spin then settled the baby onto one hip, allowing use of one free hand. He could let Mia crawl around the flat, which would probably be more efficient for packing, but she tended to scuttle into John's lap if she could get to him. John never seemed to mind the distraction unless his work was dire or time-sensitive. In this case, time was precious to the doctor. Ergo, Sherlock kept Mia propped on his hip, grabbing last minute items from each room.

Once their bag was packed, Sherlock tucked Mia in her car seat in hopes she'd take a nap before they departed. Sans child, he swooped in over John, the movement ruffling some papers. John started at Sherlock's abrupt interruption, grumbling under his breath about deadlines. Sherlock chuckled into John's ear "When did you become married to your work, Dr. Holmes?" John huffed, turning to give Sherlock his 'I am in no mood for you' look, but failed miserably when the reference hit him. His mood brightened as his eyes scanned the sitting room, landing on the ready-to-go luggage and sleeping child.

"Apparently when you went all squishy in the brain and became a house husband" They shared a joyful laugh as John swept his papers into a binder, snapping it shut with defiant finality.

"Excuse me, sir, if you don't mind, I wish to be seated on the beach with my family within the next two hours"  
Sherlock smiled darkly "If you call me 'sir' again we'll never make it to the beach, John."  
"Oh Sherlock, stop it. Let's go."

Both men gathered their belongings and the sleeping child, ferrying everything down to the car awaiting them. As they relieved themselves of the baggage and clambered into the back, Sherlock was grateful Uncle Mycroft had a soft spot for Mia. Mycroft told the men to use the car for their weekend jaunt, saving them the hassle of traffic and petrol. Uncles were good to their nieces that way.

* * *

Mia had been tapping a seashell against the pink plastic pail when it happened. Sherlock had been gazing off out over the water, enjoying the briny smell and warm sunshine. The clacking stopped as a sharp little voice tickled out "Papa!" garnering Sherlock's full attention. He shouted for John as soon as it happened.

"JOHN! John, come here! She said it!"

John got up from his spot on the beach, sand spitting from beneath his feet as he ran toward Sherlock and Mia. He kneeled beside his ever-pale husband, silently reminding himself to re-apply sunscreen to all of them soon before their light skin burned. Sherlock was grinning like a fool, coaxing Mia to continue her warbling. Her bright blue eyes caught the sunlight in the same way Sherlock's did, the sight making John's heart ache with happiness. Looking at John, she pointed at Sherlock and yelled "PAPA!". John thought Sherlock might explode on the spot.

"See?! Oh yes, this is wonderful. Soon she'll be talking full tilt, John. We can teach her so much! Shakespeare, Browning, Aristotle! Oh I do hope she can sing, wouldn't that be smart?"

John laughed "Sherlock, she's just only said 'papa'. Calm down. She'll get to the poets and music before we know it. Enjoy this moment."

Sherlock snaked his long arms around John, resting his head on John's sandy shoulder. The two men took a moment to gaze lovingly at their perfect creation seated before them. Covered in sand, whooping and laughing wildly as the surf hit her toes, raven hair tinged purple by the sun, she was gorgeous. Mia peeked back at them beneath the brim of the floppy baby hat John had purchased at the novelty store on the boardwalk. She smiled her toothy grin, giggling as her Papa scooped her up into a warm embrace.


End file.
